‘That’s what he was before he went to the bad.’ Jem Clarke, the Runner, nodded, his satisfied smile holding a wealth of promises for Mr Goode. ‘I’ll be glad to lay my hands on Paul Gooding, which is what his real name is. What’s he done this time?’
‘Murder and perjury, for a start,’ Cris said.
‘Hanging crimes.’ The Runner was beaming now. ‘How strong is the evidence?’
‘The perjury, good enough. For the murder, I think we’ll need to trick a confession out of him and do that by confronting him with the man who paid him. And he, I fear, is a viscount.’
‘Tricky. The corners of the Runner’s mouth turned down, then he brightened. ‘But you’re a marquess.’
‘I am. Let me tell you the background to this.’
*
He was almost finished with the explanation when Dyson, his butler, scratched on the door and opened it just enough to slide inside. ‘I know you did not want to be disturbed, my lord, but Lord Edenbridge—’
‘Insists.’ Gabriel followed the indignant butler into the room. ‘Sorry to interrupt. You entertaining, de Feaux?’ His intelligent gaze skimmed over the Runner in his blue coat and red waistcoat. ‘Or investigating?’
Tempting though it was to try to eject Gabe, he would be as persistent as a dog with a stolen bone. Cris waved him to a seat and introduced him to the Runner. ‘My thought was to get hold of Chelford, let him think we have evidence of what are actually only suspicions and confront him with Goode, after telling him the man’s turned King’s Evidence. With any luck they’ll both say too much.’
‘I’m with you on that. How do we get hold of them both?’
‘I’m relying on Clarke here to find Goode, or Gooding or whatever he’s calling himself this week. When he has, then I’ll invite Chelford to a nice intimate dinner.’
‘I can’t condone kidnapping, my lord.’ The Runner did not look too worried at the thought.
‘Heaven forfend,’ Cris said piously, making Gabriel snort. ‘The doors in this house have locks that are prone to stick, but that’s a minor inconvenience. I’m sure they would prove easy to open if you, for example, were to try one.’
‘I’ll get right on to Gooding’s tail now, my lord.’ The Runner got to his feet. ‘I know who’ll know where to find him, if you follow my meaning.’
‘Let me know if you need to grease any tongues,’ Cris said as the man took his leave.
‘Right, now we’re alone, you can help me think through how to handle Chelford.’
‘Later.’ Gabriel strolled over to the decanters and splashed out two brandies. ‘Your Mrs Perowne is in town.’
‘She is not my—what did you say?’
‘Bumped into her at Hermione Ancaster’s little affair last night. Dressed to the nines with a fashionable hairdo that Tess admires. Spitting tacks in my direction.’
‘Why should she be doing that?’ he asked as he grappled with the news. Tamsyn in London. Tamsyn within reach of Chelford. He stared at the glass in his hand and found it was empty.
‘I warned her off you again.’ Gabriel sat down at a safe distance, which was sensible.
Cris put down the glass. ‘Why? You are acting like an hysterical society mother whose little lamb is straying into the jaws of some rake like…you. I, in case you haven’t noticed, am male, almost thirty and no one’s little lamb.’
‘But you are an honourable man and she is a not-unattractive lady in distress who has turned up virtually on your doorstep for no good reason that I can see. If you are not exceedingly careful you are going to find yourself leg-shackled to her. And, if my memory is not failing me, you were only saying a few months ago that you’ll be looking for a bride this coming season.’ Gabriel, on the receiving end of Cris’s most icy stare, smiled innocently. ‘And I’m your friend, so I must look out for your interests.’
‘What is she doing here?’
Gabriel shrugged. ‘Said something about visiting a relative, but not who. Or where. Just as long as she is not chasing a husband.’
Landing his infuriating friend another facer was tempting, but not constructive. Cris got to his feet. ‘I’m going out. Do help yourself.’ He gestured ironically towards the decanters.
*
An hour later, after a visit to Masterson in the Albemarle Street shop, Cris used the knocker on the door of an elegant town house in Grosvenor Street.
‘Lord Avenmore to see Mrs Perowne,’ he said as the butler opened the door.