“So we believe.” Dalziel joined them by the parlor door. “What happened after you served the tea?”
With Justin, Christian, and Dalziel facing him, Mellon looked as if he would like to faint but was too scared to. “I…ah, listened at the door for a time. Mr. Swithin was telling the mistress about Mr. Randall at school. Then I was called away to the pantry. When I came back, the parlor was empty. I thought the mistress must have gone upstairs. It seemed odd she’d seen Mr. Swithin out herself, but—”
“Did you hear the front door open and shut?” Christian asked.
Mellon shook his head. He frowned, looked back down the hall. “I should have—I was only on the other side of the door.”
Christian looked down the hall, too, past the stairs. “The study.”
Once again the sea of ladies parted, letting them through. Christian grasped the handle, tried it. “Locked.”
The door was thick, solid oak. He exchanged a glance with Dalziel, then they both stepped back, balanced on one leg, then together kicked the door hard, level with the lock.
It gave with a crack. Christian used his shoulder to force the door open, then strode in. He was relieved to find the room empty, devoid of bodies. Going straight to the window, he released the secret panel.
Crowding the doorway, the ladies looked in, oohed as Dalziel caught the hidden door and hauled it wide.
Christian followed Dalziel down into the hidden room. It was the work of a moment to verify that the door to the little yard and the lane door were both unlocked.
“Just as they were when Randall was murdered.” Dalziel stood in the lane looking toward the street. “He couldn’t come in this way—he had to come in via the front door. But he left this way, just as he did before.”
“But this time he took Letitia with him.” Christian looked the other way along the lane; it ended in a wall a few houses along. He looked back toward the street. “But the only way he could have gone was back into South Audley Street.”
Frowning, he turned and strode back into the house. “Where the devil is Barton? He was keeping watch as usual this morning—Letitia knew he’d be there. She would have tried to attract his attention.” He eased his way through the mass of females thronging the hidden room and the study to regain the now relatively free space of the front hall. Justin came up with him as he made for the door; Dalziel was close behind.
Throwing open the door, Christian halted on the front step and looked across the street—to see Barton paying off a jarvey.
“What the hell?” Justin muttered.
Barton saw them. Lifting his head, squaring his shoulders, he marched toward them.
“Where the devil have you been?” Christian demanded as the wiry runner approached the steps.
Barton halted, blinked.
Christian reined in his temper, ruthlessly squelched his panic, and ground out through clenched teeth, “Lady Letitia was kidnapped this morning—she was taken from here, almost certainly in a carriage. She would have called out, struggled—you must have seen…” The little runner had lost all color. A chill clutched Christian’s chest. “You weren’t here, were you?”
Statement more than question.
Barton shook his head. “I…” He cleared his throat, then spoke more firmly. “I was following you. I didn’t see anyone nab her ladyship.”
Christian swore—colorfully, inventively, at length.
Justin eyed him with approbation. “You were always destined to marry a Vaux.”
“I’ll have to find her first.” And he would.
Apparently judging the worst had passed, Barton reached into his coat pocket, produced his warrant card, held it up for them to see. “Lord Justin Vaux, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murdering your brother-in-law, Mr. George Randall.”
“Lord, you’re not still on about that, are you?” Justin frowned down at him. “You can do that later, if you’ve a mind to after we’ve found my sister and got her out of the hands of Randall’s real murderer.”
Barton’s lips thinned. “Be that as it may, I’ve found you—Lord Justin Vaux, as is my quarry—and I’m taking you into custody, as is my duty, and I’m calling on you two gents”—he indicated Christian and Dalziel—“to bear witness. I followed him in your presences to Mr. Trowbridge’s, where I heard there’s been a spot of bother. It’s clear as the day there’s something afoot, and Lord Vaux here is in the thick of it.”
“The day,” Dalziel pointed out caustically, “is cloudy. And yes, Lord Vaux is assisting in investigating Randall’s murder and exposing the real killer, and now we know who he is, you can continue to follow us and do your duty when we corner him.” He eyed Barton coldly. “At present, however, you’re in our way.”
With that, Dalziel moved down the steps. Christian fell in behind him, Justin in the rear.
Barton had to give way; he backed across the pavement, watching, faintly stupefied, as Dalziel swung off the steps and strode off toward Curzon Street. Lengthening his stride, Christian caught up; his and Dalziel’s long legs ate the distance.