"Was there anything else on or near the body that seemed unusual?" Adam asked. "Some type of mourning jewelry or a veil, for instance?"

Bess's brow furrowed. "No, sir. I didn't see anything like that."

"One last question, Bess," Adam said. "Were you the who sent the messages summoning Mrs. Fordyce and to Mrs. Toller's house the morning after the murder?" Bess looked quite blank. "No, sir. I didn't send any mess. I was too busy packing my things and trying to find place to hide."

Caroline got into the carriage and sat down across from

Adam. She was feeling decidedly odd, an unsettling mix of excitement and exhaustion, she concluded. She tried to pull her scattered thoughts into some semblance of order. "If Bess is correct, then it would seem that Mrs. Toller did ed kill Elizabeth Delmont in a jealous rage," she said. t it was not professional jealousy that drove her; rather, it the more traditional, personal sort. She had discovered that her lover had betrayed her with another woman" "Yes." Adam lounged moodily in the shadows. "Toller must have been the one who left the wedding veil, the shed watch and the mourning brooch at the scene of Delmont's death. The question is why?"

"Perhaps those items had some symbolic meaning for her. But in that case, who removed them?"

Adam looked at her from the shadows. "The lover who s also the business partner? He may well have planned a tryst with Delmont that same night. If so, he would have found the veil and the brooch with the body, just as I did.

' Perhaps he feared that if the police discovered them, they

would raise questions that he did not want answered." "Because those answers might have implicated him in

some fashion?"

"It is the only possibility that seems logical, at least at this moment."

Caroline couldn't help herself. She patted a small yawn. "What do you intend to do now?"

"I am going to take you home and then I am going to get some sleep. It has been a very long night"

THIRTY-SIX

He got the message from Bassingthorpe late the following afternoon. The old forger received him in a comfortable house tucked away in an unmarked lane.

Bassingthorpe squinted at Adam through a pair of spectacles and heaved a weary sigh. "Eyes aren't what they used to be. Leave most of the fine work to my grandson these days. He's got talent, right enough."

"But you still look after the business, I assume?" Adam said.

"Certainly" Bassingthorpe snorted. "Can't be too careful in this profession. Teaching my granddaughter that side of the trade. She's no artist but she has a head for numbers and she's got the sort of common sense it takes to avoid trouble?

"Your grandson produced the stock certificates, then?" Adam asked.

"Yes, indeed," Bassingthorpe stated proudly. "Rather nice job, if I do say so myself. He's as good as I was at his age.

"It is the client who interests me," Adam said. "In the past, you were always very cautious in your business dealings."

Bassingthorpe raised one finger in an admonishing manner. "First rule of success in the profession is Know thy client. It is those who get greedy and take on any commission that comes along just for the sake of the money who land in prison."

"I have reason to believe that the person who commissioned the stock certificates from you may have murdered a woman. Irene Toller, the medium, to be specific."

Bassingthorpe frowned. "I say, are you certain of that?"

"Not entirely. I am still in the process of making inquiries."

"Huh" Bassingthorpe put his fingertips together and looked wise. "I've had a great deal of experience with: clients, as you well know. Wouldn't have said this one was, the murderous sort. More of a man of business"

"You may be correct. But either way, he is a link in the chain that I am following. I am very eager to locate him"

"You know I'll be glad to help you. I owe you one or two favors from the old days. Always pay my debts"

"I am very grateful, sir." Adam rested his arms on the sides of his chair. "The description I have been given is that of a heavily whiskered man who walks with a severe limp."

Bassingthorpe chuckled. "He affected that appearance when he met with me, also. But I took my usual precautions. Made certain that we met on neutral ground so that he did not have my address, and I set one of the lads who works in the shop to follow him after we came to an agreement."

Anticipation flashed through Adam. "The boy was successful?"

"Certainly. Young Harry comes from the same sort of neighborhood that you came from, Adam. No one knows more about following a man through the streets than a lad who was raised on them, eh?"

"What did young Harry discover?"

"Among other things, your man is a rather accomplished actor. He maintained his disguise right up until the moment hen he entered the back door of his lodgings. But then such talents are no doubt a requirement in his trade"

"And just what is his line?" Adam asked.

"Why, he's in the psychical research business. Gaining quite a reputation, too. I understand he gave a most astonishing performance for the police the other afternoon. Claimed he could help them identify the villain who murdered the mediums"

"Please come in, Mrs. Fordyce." Durward Reed ushered her into his cluttered office and motioned her to a chair. "I can-not tell you how much I appreciate your time today. I under-stand that you are an extremely busy person, what with your writing and your, uh, other affairs." He broke off, reddening. "I refer to the social demands that are made upon you due to your connection to Mr. Hardesty, of course"

"Of course." Caroline sat down and adjusted the heavy folds of her green gown. She pretended not to notice Reed's moment of awkwardness. A woman who was engaged in an affair with a notoriously mysterious and powerful gentle-man had to become accustomed to the occasional social lapse on the part of others. "I was delighted to receive your message. I appreciate your interest in my novels."

"Yes, indeed, I am a great admirer of your work, both as a publisher and as a reader." He motioned toward a tea tray. "May I pour you a cup?"

"Thank you."

While he busied himself with the pot and two cups, she took advantage of the opportunity to look around the office. It was not unlike Spraggett's domain, littered with papers, books and files. One entire shelf was crammed with old copies of New Dawn.

A photograph of the queen occupied a place of pride on one wall.

"My wife, Sarah, was very fond of novels. I'm sure she would have enjoyed your stories" Reed set a cup of tea on the table beside Caroline. "She was a medium of great power. Sadly, I lost her several years ago. Some monstrous villain attacked her the morning after our wedding night while she was walking in the park across the street."

"I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Reed."

"Thank you. It is my most fervent desire to contact her on the Other Side. Indeed, I have dedicated my life to that project"

A chill slithered through Caroline. "I see"

He moved one hand to indicate the office and the huge, dark mansion that seemed to press down upon them. "She was the last of her family. This house was part of her inheritance. I stayed on here after her death because I felt certain that it would be easier for her spirit to return to the place that had been her home in her earthly life."

"I understand."

"As the years passed and no contact was made, I de-voted myself to the study of psychical research. I established the Society and I try to encourage mediums and others who are interested in such matters. It is my hope that someone more gifted than I will help me find the answers I seek"

"You have contributed greatly to the field of psychical research, Mr. Reed." Out of politeness she tried another sip of the strong tea. The milk and sugar made it palatable, but just barely.