ord.”

“I suppose you have an excuse for betraying your country and sending countless good men to their deaths?”

The clerk’s expression twisted into agony. “I never meant… I needed money badly to pay my debts… and my mother… They threatened her life, said they would kill her if I didn’t obey. I swear I didn’t realize the gold would end up in French hands.”

“You didn’t realize?” Lucian repeated contemptuously.

“No, I did not! I was only told to supply the schedule.”

“But you understood your crime quite well after the first theft, considering the uproar at the Foreign Office.”

Jenkins hung his head in shame. “Yes,” he whispered. “But by then it was too late. I was in too deep.”

“Very well, tell me who is masterminding the gold thefts.”

The clerk’s expression turned earnest. “I don’t know, my lord. I was merely an underling. I heard his name mentioned once-Lord Caliban-but I never saw him.”

“Someone must be giving you orders.”

“Someone did, yes. I received my instructions from a gentleman… Sir Giles Frayne…”

Lucian felt his heart lurch at the name, but he was spared from answering when Philip spoke for the first time. “Sir Giles has been dead for months.”

Involuntarily Lucian met his subordinate’s gaze. Philip was one of the few people who knew how Sir Giles had met his ignominious end.

Lucian glanced down at his hands that were suddenly unsteady. The memory of that bleak moment would always be etched in his mind. Killing his friend had unleashed something dark and primal within him, an ugliness he longed to forget. Yet he was prepared to kill again if it meant stopping the treacherous Caliban and his cohorts in treason.

“A convenient claim,” Lucian said finally, “now that Sir Giles is no longer alive to defend his name. How can you honestly expect me to believe you?”

“I have proof, my lord… if you wish to see it?”

“Yes.”

Keeping a wary eye on Lucian, the clerk struggled to his feet and went to one corner of the room. Lucian spared a glance around the spartan chamber, which held a cot, a desk, a chair and reading lamp, and a cabinet with a brazier for cooking. If Jenkins was being paid for treason, there was little luxury here to show for it.

Bypassing the desk, the clerk knelt and dug up a loose floorboard. Retrieving a leather pouch, he turned it over to Lucian. “They’re all here-all the instructions Sir Giles gave me for the past year.”

Lucian thumbed through the scraps of paper. “I see nothing to connect these to Sir Giles. You could have forged these just as you forged my letter.”

“But I didn’t, my lord, I swear it! I still have nearly all the money he gave me from the first time. A hundred pounds. Once I realized… I couldn’t spend it. I told Sir Giles I would no longer help. I pleaded- but he insisted. He said Caliban would kill my mother if I failed to do exactly as he asked.”

His expression held such sincere misery, Lucian was inclined to believe him. Moreover, he knew very well what treachery Giles had been capable of.

“If your contact is dead, how do you communicate now?”

“My instructions are left anonymously… in a flowerpot outside my door. I never see who leaves them.”

Lucian stared at him for a long moment, using his most intimidating scowl. The clerk visibly quailed but did not retract his story.

“Very well,” Lucian said at last. “Tell me about this letter of authorization you wrote. You forged my hand?”

“Yes, my lord. I obtained some of your correspondence and practiced for weeks.”

“How did you manage to get my seal?”

“I did not, exactly. I was supplied with several wax wafers with your seal already imprinted on them. It wasn’t difficult to transfer one to the letter. It requires only a hot brick and a razor-thin knife.”

“Someone must have acquired your seal ring,” Philip observed.

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