"Mrs. Reed was a medium?"

"Yes, indeed. A decade ago, before her marriage, she was very fashionable. Gave séances to some of the most exclusive people."

"She moved in elevated circles?"

Florence nodded. "She was the last member of a prominent family that had made a fortune in shipping. I had a number of clients who attended séances given by her."

"Thank you, Florence. Once again I am in your debt."

She assumed a familiar expression, one that told him that she was ready to transact some business.

"You can repay me easily enough with some information from your world," she said.

"If I can answer your questions, I will do so."

"You recall that little establishment in Marbury Street? The one that caters to gentlemen who enjoy the pleasures of discipline and bondage?"

"Yes. I heard that Mrs. Thorne had sold the business."

"She did. But her successor, who goes by the charming name of Mrs. Lash, is quite ambitious. She has taken a notion to expand into a new and much grander location. To that end, she has come up with a very ingenious plan to ac-quire the necessary financial capital. She is putting together a consortium of investors from among her regular clients."

"Is she?" He was intrigued. "That is certainly creative of her. These investors are gentlemen who move in Society, I assume?"

"Yes. She has commissioned me to make some inquiries into the financial standing of each of them. A woman in her position who decides to do business with gentlemen cannot he too careful."

"That is true," he agreed.

"I'll show you the list." Florence rose, went to a nearby table and opened a drawer. "Two of the names were familiar to me but three are not. I trust you will be able to tell me something about them."

He got to his feet, took the list from her and studied it for a moment, memorizing the names out of long habit. This sort of information was always useful.

"I had not realized that Ivybridge and Milbome had a taste for the whip," he said absently.

"All of them do. That is why they became clients of the establishment in the first place. I am interested to hear what you know about any of the men on that list."

He shrugged. "It appears to be the usual assortment of insufferable prigs and hypocrites. They are the type who affect superior airs and pretend to sterling moral characters while, behind the scenes, they routinely force themselves on their chambermaids and patronize brothels." He paused. "Rut you said that it is the state of their finances that particularly interests you?"

"Yes. Given her position, Mrs. Lash will not have much recourse if it turns out that any of these men proves to be unreliable in that regard"

He gave her a short, concise summary of what he knew of the men's financial positions.

"Thank you." Florence put the list back into the drawer.

"I shall inform Mrs. Lash that none of her potential investors appears to be on the verge of bankruptcy.^"

"Remind her that there are other risks involved. None of those men can be entirely trusted"

"I'm sure she is well aware of the nature of their characters."

"If that is all, I must be on my way" He took her hand and bowed over it. "Good evening, Florence. As always, it has been a great pleasure."

"So very gallant," Florence murmured. A wistful expression lit her eyes. "I vow, when I see you these days with your elegant clothes and fine manners, I can scarcely believe that you are in any way related to that ragged boy who used to come to my back door offering to sell secrets and gossip obtained from Maud's customers. I always knew that you would become successful one day."

He grinned. "Did you?"

"Yes. The only question in my mind was whether you would make your fortune legally or illegally."

"One of the many lessons I have learned, madam, is that there is often very little distinction between the two approaches."

"Bah. You make a point of presenting a cold and ruthless face to the world, but I have known you for a very long time, Adam Hardesty. I am aware of how you saved your brother and sisters. I know about the charity houses for children that you have established in the stews. Underneath that decidedly rusty armor, you possess a sense of honor and a measure of nobility that would have done credit to any of the knights of the Round Table"

Amused, he surveyed the nearest painting. It showed a knight in elaborately wrought armor enjoying the solicitous attentions of a group of scantily clad nymphs. "Then why is it that I very seldom find myself under attack by scores of beautiful, nude females?"

"Most likely because thanks to your infamous rules, you have been obsessed with avoiding scandal for the past several years."

He studied another picture, which depicted a lovely nude woman in the arms of a knight in gold armor. Memories of the hot, sweet passion he had found with Caroline heated his blood.

"I seem to have shattered a number of my own rules lately," he said.

"You have, indeed, managed to become the subject of a great sensation in the papers" Florence laughed. "Which reminds me, is your connection with Mrs. Fordyce a serious matter or merely a wild, tempestuous fling for you? I am hoping it is a bit of both."

"You know her work?"

"Yes, of course. I adore Mrs. Fordyce's novels."

"You force me to reveal the humiliating truth, madam. I have reason to believe that Mrs. Fordyce may be using me as her muse. In particular, she has informed me that I have become her model for the character of Edmund Drake in her new novel."

"How exciting. I cannot wait to see if you will escape the usual fate meted out to a Fordyce villain."

THIRTY

Adam went down the broad marble steps in front of Florence Stotley's elegant town house and found himself con-fronted by a wall of fog and night. Gas lamps glowed in front of the elegant front doors that lined the street, but for the most part they provided balls of useless, glaring light that reflected eerily off the mist.

Earlier in the evening he had noticed the dense vapor gathering in the streets. Aware that the stuff would slow traffic, he had elected to walk to Florence's address.

At the foot of the steps he turned and started back in the direction he had come, relying on the secret web of hidden walks, lanes and alleys that constituted his private mental map of the city.

Now and then the shadowy shapes of tentatively moving carriages and hansom cabs rattled past. Figures came and went like wraiths in the thick mist. They appeared briefly silhouetted against a flaring gas lamp and then vanished, leaving only the echoes of footsteps.

Halfway across a small park in a quiet square it occurred to him that he was not all that far from Corley Lane. It was just going on ten o'clock. Caroline had mentioned earlier n the day that she intended to write tonight. Perhaps she would like to hear about his visit to Florence Stotley.

It was a transparent excuse to call upon her. Then again, he did not actually need a good excuse, he decided. After all, they had embarked upon an affair. That gave him certain privileges.

In any event, there would be no harm in walking past her little house tonight. If he saw lights in the windows, he would knock. If not, he would continue on his way.

He moved silently along a tiny walk that separated two rows of town houses, cut through another park and started along a narrow street.

A short time later, he ducked into a crooked lane. The stones of the darkened buildings that loomed over the pas-sage dated from medieval times. It was a route he had used often enough in his younger days when he had come to this part of the city to sell his wares.

The all-too-familiar shiver of ghostly electricity touched the back of his neck. A second later he caught the unmistakable scrape of shoe leather on pavement behind him.