Satisfied that the wheels were in motion, Royce headed directly to his quarters, where Breanna and Hibbert were discussing the events of the past few days while eyeing the door, waiting for Royce to reappear.
They both jumped up when he walked in. “Did Maurelle tell you anything?'' Breanna burst out.
Triumph gleamed in Royce's eyes. “Far more than she realized.”
“Then she gave you enough to figure out the killer's name?”
“Definitely not. Maurelle Le Joyau is as tough as they come. And smart. She'll die before exposing the killer. Especially since it's clear she's in love with him.”
Breanna gave a bemused shake of her head, puzzled by the victorious expression on Royce's face. “What did she say?”
Swiftly, Royce relayed their conversation.
When he was finished, even Hibbert looked baffled. “I see where your questions were headed. You wanted to find out about her past, figure out where and when she and the assassin met. Hopefully, Girard will do that for us.”
“Oh, he'll definitely do that for us. Very effectively, with the help of the note I just sent him.”
“A note,” Breanna repeated, sensing this piece of information was directly tied to whatever was making Royce feel so encouraged, “telling him what?”
“That I've encountered Mademoiselle Le Joyau before tonight. And that I remember exactly where and when that was.”
Even Hibbert stared. “You've met?”
“Not officially no. Which makes it all the better, as she has no memory of me, while I have an excellent memory of her. She was the main attraction in Paris some years ago—at least to a very confused young man who was reluctant to return with me to England and to his anxious father. I had to drag the boy out of that brothel, so taken was he with his paid companion's beauty and numerous charms. I never knew her name—we weren't exactly formally introduced. But I never forget a face. It's she, all right.”
By now, Breanna had caught on. “Y ou're talking about your first case—the one you told me about. That junior officer you found for his father the general. The man you located at a seedy brothel outside Paris.”
“Maison Fleur,” Royce supplied. “That was the name of the brothel. I don't know whether or not it's still standing. But when it was, Maurelle Le Joyau worked there. Their clientele were chiefly soldiers.”
“Including the assassin,” Breanna declared.
“Right.” Royce rubbed his hands together. “Damen arranged for his fastest courier to get my message to Girard. We'll have Mademoiselle Le Joyau's complete history in a matter of days. In the meantime, tomorrow my men will start compiling information on all the men on the guest list who have military records-which will reveal exactly who was stationed near Paris, and when. Between that and what Girard tells us, we'll figure out the identity of our assassin.”
“But will it be in time?” Breanna asked.
Royce shot her an uneasy look, trying to ascertain how much she'd deduced.
“Royce, I know you're trying to protect me.” Softly, she answered his unspoken question. “But I'm not stupid. That animal is taunting us by delivering a stream of those porcelain figures—the ones stolen from the shop in Canterbury you told me about. If there really were only seven statues in all, then he's down to the last of them. And after that...” She shuddered. “After that, there will no longer be a reason for him to wait.”
“We'll give him a reason.” Royce went to her, seized her shoulders in a tender but determined grip. “Remember something, sweetheart. Now we have something he wants—a bargaining tool to dangle before him.''
“Maurelle.”
“Right. My guess is, he's as involved with Maurelle as she is with him. Which means he's vulnerable when it comes to her. And his vulnerability is our weapon.”
“How can we inform him we have her if we don't know who he is?” Breanna asked.
“There are ways,” Royce returned quietly, thinking he'd parade Maurelle Le Joyau across the front lawn at gunpoint, shouting out that she was his prisoner in order to get the assassin's attention, if need be. “Some of those ways are riskier than others. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. The last statue hasn't arrived yet. Until it does, we have time. L et's use that time. Maybe we'll have our answers by then.”
“What are you planning?”
“I'm going to interrogate Maurelle L e Joyau. I'm bound to learn something, however small. Maybe I’ll run Cunnings's name by her, or even your father's. She might know something about them.”
“How?”
Royce cleared his throat. “Men are known to b
e less guarded when they're in a woman's bed. They talk more openly. Maurelle knew about you—she taunted me with the fact that her assassin meant to kill you with one bullet. That means he said something, not only about his plans, but about his belief that you and I are involved. Why else would she expect me to react to your intended fate?”